Dead in the Water
by Autumnstar17
Summary: Sherlock invites himself to Mary and John's honeymoon. Things go awry when a series of passengers aboard the cruise ship wind up dead, and despite his best efforts, Sherlock has a rather difficult time solving the case when the remaining passengers become paranoid and begin pointing fingers at one another. (Collab by me and Scottie)
1. Chapter 1

A cruise ship called the Emerald Princess had departed from England just six hours earlier. It was embarking on a two-week-long voyage with a couple pit stops in Spain and France, and was also the honeymoon choice for newlyweds John and Mary Watson. The weather was perfect - warm and sunny with the slightest breeze - and the happy couple was already enjoying every minute of their trip, currently occupying a pair of pool chairs set out around the rear of the ship.

"Suppose we'll see any dolphins?" Mary was saying, sunglasses pushed to the top of her head. She was sitting cross-legged over a beach towel and looking through a digital camera.

John was lying down with his legs crossed and flipping through a celebrity gossip magazine. "I think there's a good chance," he answered. The man was wearing a pair of red swim trunks to match his wife's bikini.

Mary glanced up at John and frowned. "Hey, I hope you remembered to put on sunscreen over there."

"'Course I did."

"When?"

"Uh… when we first came out here? Maybe an hour ago?"

"Then it's about time you reapplied," the woman decided. She then exchanged the camera for a bottle of sunscreen in her purse and scooted to the edge of her chair. "Alright, flip over. I can't be seen strutting about with a lobster for a husband."

John did as he was told without complaint. Once flopped onto his stomach Mary began rubbing the white substance into his back. Suddenly there was the sound of a large brass bell being rung and the couple both lifted their heads. "Suppose that means dinner?" John asked.

"I guess. A tad earlier than I would've expected, though. C'mon, John; let's get dressed and go check out the buffet!"

-x-

"Are you kidding me? You pay all that money to book the spot and then they go and assign your dinner seats?" John scoffed, inspecting the fancy dining table's name cards distastefully. "At least they had the decency to stick us facing the window."

"Oh, shush. I'm sure the food is absolutely delightful." Mary planted a kiss on John's cheek and then gasped with delight. "Oh, and look! They've got a live orchestra!" John started to turn his head to see and Mary's face fell. "Um. On second thought, actually, maybe it's best that you didn't… look…"

But John had already caught sight of what she was referring to. There he was, an add-in sitting in the middle of a string quartet at the opposite end of the dining hall. Playing a concerto along with the professional musicians without a care in the world. As if he had absolutely no idea.

"I'm going to kill that man, I swear I will," John practically growled. Fists clenched, he began stomping towards said offender, Mary shuffling after him with a worried countenance.

The last chord in the arrangement was released and those seated nearest to the entertainment erupted into applause. Sherlock put down his violin, spotted his friends, and then smiled. "John. Mary. What a lovely coincidence."

"Wh-no, no, it is most definitely not a coincidence! What the bloody hell are you doing here, Sherlock!"

Sherlock's face fell again. "Rude. I could ask you the same thing, you know. I'm simply on vacation. Taking some time out of the office. Enjoying the fresh air. How was I supposed to know I'd run into you two, much less that you wouldn't want me here?"

"No no no no no, now don't you dare try and pull that act with me, mister," John fumed. "I am here on my honeymoon-"

"Our," Mary corrected.

"-Mary and I are here on our honeymoon, which I know that you know, because you helped me purchase the tickets an entire week ago!"

"Of course. You're right. I'm terribly sorry," Sherlock apologized. "You should probably inform the others, as well, because I don't believe that they received the memo."

John squinted. "What do you mean?"

"Everyone else onboard, of course. You're right. It's your Sex Holiday - sorry, honeymoon. How dare they intervene."

John pinched at the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "Sherlock. For the love of… That's not what I… You know exactly what I mean, so can you please, just for once, once in your entire lifetime at least try to act your age?" There was a very long and rather uncomfortable silence following John's remark.

"John," Mary said softly. She placed a loving hand on the man's upper arm.

Finally John met Sherlock's eyes, but the detective immediately looked away and began packing back up his instrument. The hired violinist returned as he was still in the midst of fumbling around with its case and cast him a sort of funny look, to which Sherlock gave a curt nod and started for the door.

"Now - now hold on," John tried, attempting to cut the consulting detective off. "What is this now? The 'silent treatment'?"

"You made it perfectly clear that I'm not welcome here," Sherlock began flatly, "and I have decided to respect your wishes. Consider it a belated wedding gift, if you will. We can't possibly be more than, what, seven hours out? Therefore if I am to jump off the ship almost immediately, I should have a fair shot at making it back to shore before midnight by means of a stolen lifeboat. Without one I'm afraid it might take quite a bit longer, especially considering my limbs are bound to give out after two, three hours of freestyle swimming. Nonetheless still very possible, albeit a rather daunting challenge."

Mary glanced out at the sea surrounding them as if inspecting it. "I'd reconsider if I were you," she concluded. "Looks a tad cold."

"Oh, I'm sure. Absolutely freezing. I'd estimate about fifteen celsius this time of year. Perhaps I ought to first remove my shoes, eliminate some of the drag? Could shave off a couple minutes at best… Actually, I might as well take unnecessary layers out of the equation as well. Won't help with the temperature, I'm afraid, but I'll nearly double my odds of making it all the way back to land without them." Sherlock started to remove his scarf and handed it to Mary. "You'll be a dear and hold onto these for me, won't you?"

"Fine!" John exclaimed, throwing his arms out to his sides in exasperation. "You can crash mine and Mary's honeymoon! I don't give a rat's arse! You have my bloody permission, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Sherlock smirked, made a pinch at John's nose (much to his annoyance), wiggled it around some and then patted the side of his face lightly. "Knew you'd come around," he beamed.

"Jerk," John spat back, pushing his cocky friend's hand away.

"Oh! Sunset!" Mary suddenly let out. The two boys whipped their heads around at her. Shoving the accessory back into Sherlock's hands, she pushed through them both. "Quick, John! Grab the camera! I want to get the shot!" John knew exactly what his wife was referring to and hurried after her, Sherlock out of the loop but keeping up nonetheless.

The woman didn't stop running until she had reached the Emerald Princess' bow, at which point she positioned herself at its furthermost point. Sunset had actually begun some time earlier, but only now did the sky begin turning a brilliant pink and orange. John handed their digital camera off to Sherlock and swooped in behind Mary. Mary extended her arms out to the side as if they were wings and John wrapped around the girl's waist, looking forward from over her shoulder. Sherlock was still not entirely sure what was going on and why it mattered so much, but he took one for the team and snapped a couple pictures until the newlyweds dropped the pose and came bounding over to see the result.

"Did you get it?" Mary asked excitedly despite already starting to look herself.

"Yes, I believe so. Whatever 'it' is."

John frowned at Sherlock. "What? The picture?" Sherlock didn't answer, and John looked at him with even more judgement than before. "C'mon, tell me you've at least heard of Titanic."

Sherlock blinked. "Of course I have. RMS Titanic; British passenger liner that sank in the North Atlantic Ocean in 1912 after colliding with an iceberg during her maiden voyage from Southampton to New York City. Over fifteen hundred casualties. But what does that have to do with anything?"

"The movie, Sherlock," John sighed. "I was, of course, referring to the movie Titanic." There was a brief pause before he went on: "You know, DiCaprio and Winslet? That Celine Dion song? No? Not ringing any bells?" The man seemed almost hurt by Sherlock's lack of recognition to this. He looked to his wife helplessly. "Mary. Sherlock hasn't seen Titanic.

"And he won't see it until all three of us have made it safely back home, you hear? I won't be having any jinxes on this cruise. Not on my honeymoon." Mary took John's hand in her own and showed him the camera. "What do you think? Cover photo?"

-x-

"Oh come on, Sherlock," John sighed. "Why do you have on so many layers? Aren't you getting a bit warm?"

It was the second day of their journey. Sherlock was perched on the edge of the pool, studying other vacationers with a fascination that led mothers to keep their children close. He was wearing his usual suit, heavy coat, and scarf, and John of course was in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks.

"Mm, no, I'm good," Sherlock said. John waded over, slicked back his wet hair, and rested his elbows on the floor near Sherlock's feet. The detective's face turned a bit pink.

"Liar," John scolded. "I can see you sweating."

Sherlock huffed and popped up the collar of his jacket, letting it shield him from the sun and unwanted gazes. "Don't you have approximately fifty thousand gallons of chlorine and baby-piss to frolick in?"

John scoffed and flung a bit of water at him. "You're the one who invited yourself onto this cruise, so you might as well have some fun while you're here."

"A giant lukewarm communal bath is fun?" Sherlock asked.

"Do you legitimately not understand the appeal of a pool, or are you mocking me?"

"Both," Sherlock said. "We're in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by water. On a boat, meant to keep us out of the water. Which has a trench full of water in the center of the deck. All so these idiots can sit in four feet of the stuff and say they swam in the ocean without ever actually being in the ocean. Why go through all the trouble? Why not just swim in the damn ocean?"

"I dunno, sharks?" John said.

"Sharks don't ever actually attack people, John," Sherlock said. "You're much more likely to be harmed by an innocent little jellyfish whose squishy head you heartlessly kick in."

"Which can only be considered self-defence, of course," Mary agreed as she approached in her red bikini. She dropped a kiss on Sherlock's forehead and then dove into the pool. The small tidal wave she made splashed John right in the face. She came up and shook her head like a dog, getting her husband in the eyes one more time for good measure. "Sorry, why are we talking about jellyfish again?"

John squinted at her through the pain of pool chemicals in his eyes. "They're apparently very misunderstood creatures."

Suddenly a scream rang out from somewhere near the ship's edge and everyone on the deck lifted their heads towards the noise. A small crowd started to form around the railing, all of them staring down at the water. Sherlock jumped up and made a beeline for the mob, leaving John and Mary still trying to flop their way out of the pool. They each grabbed their beach towels as shields against the wind and by the time they made it to where all the commotion was, the crowd was too large, everyone elbowing and shoving to get a look over the railing.

"How did she fall in?" some of the passengers called out to no one in particular.

"Where are the lifeguards?"

"Isn't someone going to help her!"

"Do you think she jumped?!"

Without saying anything John passed his towel off to Mary and ducked into the mob. He squeezed his way to the railing and came up again for air right beside Sherlock. John peered over the side of the Emerald Princess and saw what was attracting so much attention-a woman's body bobbing face down in the waves.

"Oh good, there you are," Sherlock muttered. Much to John's surprise, the detective began undressing himself. A scarf, coat, and pair of shoes were shoved into John's arms in a heap. "Hang onto these, will you?"

John blinked at him stupidly. "Wh-what are you doing?" he stammered, already fearing he knew the answer.

"Looks like I'm going for a swim after all."

"Sherlock! This is insane!"

But without enough time (or free hands) to stop him, John watched helplessly as Sherlock climbed on top of the ship's railing and jumped into the ocean below, feet first and hands at his sides. John called out his friend's name again, but the word was masked by shouts and gasps from the peanut gallery. After chucking Sherlock's articles of clothing as far away from the edge of the ship as he could, John began frantically looking for a way to haul Sherlock back up. Finding the gawking passengers less than useful, John whirled around only to bump into Mary, who was carrying a long coil of rope. "Looking for this?" she asked, and smiled weakly.

John thanked her with a kiss and fought his way back to the front of the crowd. He tied a huge knot on one end of the rope and threw it overboard to Sherlock. "Grab the rope!" he yelled. "We'll hoist you up!"

"Yes, I gathered that was the plan," Sherlock yelled back. He slung the unmoving woman over his shoulder and clung to the rope, using the knot John tied as a foothold. He sent John a thumbs up, and the doctor and his wife pulled. Sherlock barely even budged.

"Oh, fuck me," Mary sighed.

John turned to glare at the other passengers standing on the sidelines staring at him. "Well, are you going to help us or not?" the doctor barked, using his soldier voice.

Thankfully a handful of the more lively onlookers gathered around and took hold of the rope. Under John's direction, they all heaved together, and within a few minutes Sherlock was able to climb back over the safety rail and lie the woman on the deck. John immediately dropped to his knees and began attempting to resuscitate the woman as everyone else hovered around him with anxious looks.

"John," Sherlock said. He tried in vain to unstick his shirt from his chest and smooth his soaked hair back out of the way of his eyes. Mary silently draped a towel around his shoulders and began drying him off as much as she could. "John," Sherlock tried again, louder. John ignored him and pressed his mouth to the woman's, forcing air into her lungs. "For God's sake, John, will you stop molesting the body?" Sherlock grabbed John by the arm and yanked him backwards. "She's dead. She was gone before she even hit the water."

John looked almost determined to not believe Sherlock at first, but upon further analysis it became apparent that this was the case. John leaned away from the body now. He hesitated before meeting Sherlock's eyes. "Then that would mean that the killer…"

"Is still on board," Mary finished.

Sherlock nodded grimly.


	2. Chapter 2

They both found it odd, doing their investigation thing with so many spectators who were not being held back by police lines, but nobody was prepared for what happened next. Confirmation of the dead body had rippled through the crowd and was quickly replaced by a series of frantic screams and wailing. Bewildered by the chaos, John stood up and pulled Mary closer to himself. "N-No, stop that!" Sherlock said with a raised voice. "Everyone just… stay calm! Whatever you do, there is absolutely no need to panic!" He was, of course, entirely ignored by those panicking.

Sherlock paced back and forth a couple steps before shoving his way through the worked up mob. Once freed from the mass of people, he retrieved his dry clothes, slipped on his shoes, tucked his coat and scarf under one arm, and darted away from the crime scene.

"Where the hell are you off to now?" John demanded, chasing after him with Mary in tow.

"Well, I figure someone ought to take charge of this mess, and if it clearly isn't going to be me..." Without any further explanation, Sherlock led the married couple through the ship's interior, and stopped them just outside of the bridge. He pulled back a wet sleeve and knocked loudly on the white door in front of them.

Almost immediately, the door swung open to reveal a young man wearing a white and navy uniform. "We need to speak with the captain," Sherlock explained, before the man even had time to ask.

He squinted at Sherlock. "Only cruise line staff are allowed entry beyond this point. But I'd be happy to take a message, if you'd be so kind as to leave-"

"Now see here," John interrupted, squeezing in front of Sherlock and getting up in the other man's face. "There's kind of a big public disturbance going on out there that is in desperate need of sorting out. So the way I see it, you can either stand there and not let us in, in which case you have no right to complain when the lawsuits start filing in, or you can take your STUPID FISHER PRICE I WANNA BE A SAILOR WHEN I GROW UP COSTUME AND STAND ASIDE."

Mary and Sherlock exchanged surprised and slightly aroused looks. There was a chuckle from inside. "Oh, let them in, Darren!" another voice said.

The man who was apparently called Darren stepped out of the doorway, looking far from pleased. Sherlock, Mary, and John walked onto the bridge. The little room was lined with glass on one wall, under which sat a control panel with many buttons and levers and joysticks and a wheel. There were five other gentlemen in uniform, one of whom was wearing a rather silly hat and had a thick, wiry beard.

"Now what can I ding-dong-diddly-do for you folks?" the most decked out man of the bunch asked. "No, wait, let me guess: you fell into the pool and need a new pair of pants that are slightly less soaked?"

Sherlock pursed his lips together into a tense smile. "It's seawater."

"Oh? Stood too close to the edge of the Princess then, did we? Now that is embarrassing."

"I jumped," the consulting detective clarified. "I jumped to retrieve the dead body of a young woman."

The captain's face fell. "Oh. I don't suppose that's much of a laughing matter then, is it?"

"No," agreed John. "No, it really isn't."

The ship's captain sighed and rubbed at his wrinkled forehead. "That's a real shame. But what can you do? A lady wants to jump, she's gonna jump and there ain't always going to be a hero just standing around to stop her."

"But she didn't jump," Mary pointed out. "She was already dead before going over. Poisoned. I should think that changes things."

"Well, sure it would, assuming I believed it. But hard as they are to accept, things like this happen from time to time and there's no sense in trying to make up excuses and explanations for it." The older man pulled a radio down from where it had been hanging by a cord and held it close to his mouth, pushing down a button to turn on the ship's intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, we've just been informed of a minor disturbance on board. There is no need to be alarmed. The situation is being handled and we apologize for any inconveniences. Thank you and we hope you continue to enjoy your voyage!" The captain let go of the radio once he had finished, and it sprung back up into the air. "Now where did you say the body was again?" he asked, addressing Sherlock again.

"The pool deck," Sherlock said softly.

"Minor disturbance?" John repeated. "There is corpse on your boat!"

"Ship. There is a corpse on my ship, and I stated just moments ago, that situation is being dealt with accordingly. Now you two - be a couple of dears and bring the bloody thing down to the morgue, would you?" Two of the other men in uniform nodded and left the room.

"Morgue?" echoed Mary. "On a pleasure cruise?"

"Not entirely uncommon for cruise lines," Sherlock explained coolly. "Elderly passengers tend to experience heart failure overseas far more often than companies care to admit."

"Is no one going to talk about the fact that she was undoubtedly murdered!" shouted John.

"Well, we were talking about that, but clearly some of us didn't want to hear of it." Sherlock cast a judgemental glare in the commander's direction.

The captain frowned. "Are you really still going on about that? It's ridiculous! Absolutely inconceivable! Someone wouldn't poison someone else on the Emerald Princess any more than they would at Disneyland. Why go through all the trouble and expenses?"

"But she had been poisoned. I don't know what sort of barely competent medical staff you have around here but if you'd just have them look into the matter you'd see that I'm right. Hemlock would be my initial guess, if you're in desperate need of a place to start. But no, you're right - it's absolutely preposterous. As you said, why should anyone want to do something like this while on vacation? The victim clearly poisoned herself beforehand. Probably wanted to take the sting out of hitting the water. How dare I jump to conclusions? Obviously that's a much more suitable explanation than murder."

"You really think so?"

"NO, NOT REALLY!"

-x-

"Well that was a bust," John sighed, nicking a bottle of alcohol and a couple of glasses from an unlocked cupboard on their way past. "Want some?" he offered.

Mary pursed her lips. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you aren't intentionally taunting me with that."

"Pregnant. Right." Feeling sheepish, John once again put the objects in their place. They made their way back to the dining hall, which was now mostly abandoned, save a few families with children who were chatting it up. The three of them relocated to one of the rounded tables. Despite it not being quite lunchtime yet, the buffet was filled to the brim with various fruits, crisps, and beverages.

"So what now?" Mary yawned, leaning forward over the table and resting her chin in her arms.

Sherlock smirked. "Isn't it obvious? We catch ourselves another murderer."

"This would happen on my honeymoon," John sighed. "Why does this always happen when you're in the vicinity?"

"I would've assumed it was because you're the one who chose the Emerald Princess."

John narrowed his eyes at the detective. "Don't."

"Sorry. Never could resist a good jest."

"Okay, here's the plan!" Mary exclaimed suddenly and slammed her fist down on the table, making the two boys jump. "The captain won't take this seriously until we have proof of foul play, so Sherlock, you can start by figuring out how to prove that the dead chick really was poisoned. John, you try and get your hands on some sort of documentation of everyone on board, staff and passengers alike. That way we'll at least have a general idea of who all our suspects are."

"And what about you?"

"I'll look into who our victim was and see if I can figure out why she was offed. We can meet back here and discuss our findings over dinner. Alright gang, let's split up!"

John raised an eyebrow. "Split up? What is this, Scooby Doo?"

"Well, you two do remind me a little of Shaggy and Scoob," Mary teased.

"Pardon?" Sherlock asked, eyes narrowed.

"Just a joke, dear," Mary said, patting the detective's arm.

"And a terribly outdated one at that," John agreed, smiling.

Sherlock glared at Mary long enough for her to become slightly uncomfortable. She had a higher tolerance for Sherlock's looks than most people did. "Which one of us is represented by the dog?"

-x-

Mary was the last one back that evening. She'd spent the past few hours piecing together all she could about their victim from other passengers and, to be perfectly honest, was quite proud of her findings. "Stevie Lamb," Mary began, pulling up a seat for herself and squeezing in between Sherlock and John (despite the vast majority of the round table being already available to her).

"She doesn't appear to have come with anyone, but made some friends on the first day. Namely, the Took family and that elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Bisson. Stevie worked at a daycare before coming into some money after the death of her half brother, which was what prompted the vacation. Only other things people seemed to know about her were that she was quite fond of the pool deck and talked quite a bit about her two children, both of which attend university. Oh, and not too long before she got offed, Stevie was carrying around this. I don't know if you can make anything out of it, but just in case..."

Mary placed a worn out copy of Pride and Prejudice on the table. Sherlock took the object and turned it in his hands for a moment thoughtfully before setting it down again. "So how did things go for you boys?" Mary went on, helping herself to John's plate of food. John scooted his chair over as to give his wife more room.

"Definitely poisoning," Sherlock said. "I took a closer look at the body, and she had been vomiting significantly before her death. Annoying, because there probably won't be much left to examine in her stomach when someone gets around to an autopsy..." Sherlock sighed and slumped melodramatically against the table. "No idea how to convince the captain, as I have a feeling he'll just imply she indulged a bit too much at the bar or something. I still say hemlock. Simple to find if you know where to look, and several parts of it could easily be chopped up and slipped into her food and mistaken for seasoning. I'm guessing she started feeling terribly ill, rushed to the side of the ship to vomit, and didn't dare return to her room for fear of getting sick again before she made it back. If she passed out or the paralysis or seizures kicked in, she could have fallen over the rail or rolled under it when the ship rocked."

Mary nodded and the two of them looked to John expectantly. Realizing they were both staring at him, John began fumbling around with his jacket pocket. "Oh! Right, um…" The man pulled out a folded wad of paper, opened it up, and reached over the table to set it down on top of the book Mary had brought. "Wasn't easy to get my hands on, but this is a copy of the passenger list. They didn't have anything like that for the cruise staff, but I penciled in as many names and their respective job titles as I could find out. Which… probably isn't all that impressive, considering there are one hell of a lot of them. Apparently a ship such as this one can hold around… Oh, I think the lady said like, close to 2,000 passengers, plus with nearly half that many crew members. And I'm told that's considerably small compared to a lot of other cruise lines."

Mrs. Watson began flipping through the list of names, all scrunched together in an unbelievably tiny font. "You're right," she sighed. "This is hardly going to help us narrow down suspects."

"It's surprising we found the body at all," John went on. "This boat is freaking enormous - two pools, four bars, a dining hall with two smaller eating areas, a theater, a wedding chapel, plus the multitude of rooms, cabins with and without their own private balconies…"

"Yes, dear, I remember reading the passenger services list when we were picking out a cruise," Mary patted John's arm.

"I'm just saying, there are a lot of places someone could've gotten killed and we wouldn't even know about it."

Sherlock smirked. "Spent some time lost and wandering around the same couple halls in circles, did you?"

"I hardly see how that's relevant to the case," John frowned.

Sherlock started to say something witty back when he was immediately distracted by a some sort of commotion beginning to take place several tables away. An older gentleman was lying face-down over the table, as if having suddenly passed out.

"What's the matter with him?" people were demanding. "Has he had too much to drink? Is he having a heart attack?"

"He's been poisoned!" a shrill voice called out. "They all have! Look at them!"

Mary, John, and Sherlock all jumped up from their seats and scanned their eyes across the dining room. Sure enough, a handful of individuals had also collapsed at their own tables. The quartet had stopped playing halfway through a piece and began packing up their instruments and sheet music as quickly as they could manage. As the wave of panic spread those who knew the eight unconscious people clung to their loved ones with various looks of distress and worry, while everyone else mostly either fled from the room, crashing into one another like bumper cars, or stood around in the way gasping and shrieking.

Mary pressed a hand over her mouth, eyeing the plate she and John had eaten out of. "Oh my god."

"It's the red wine," Sherlock assured her. He paused suddenly, eyebrows furrowed. "Well. Probably."

"Probably?!"

"It's one common denominator. Look, rather than stand around and wide-eyed at the prospect, why don't you make yourself useful and pour out what's left of the wine just in case, mm?"

Pursing her lips together, Mary hurried over to the buffet table to do so just as another figure entered the room through a door just beside that of the kitchen's. The vast majority of the room had been vacated by that point, save the golden trio and several relations to the deceased, all of which were hovering about the dining hall in stunned silenced. The ship's captain paused in the doorway with folded arms. "Now what the gosh-darn-diddly-dang-it is goin' on in here?" he demanded.

Sherlock swooped over in an almost impressive few amount of steps, wincing at the seaman's obnoxious southern twang. "Oh, nothing too exciting," he replied flatly. "Just your typical pleasure cruise killing spree. Perfectly fine for business regulations."

The captain narrowed his eyes. "Feeling pretty clever now, aren't you, sailor?"

"As a matter of fact, yes I am. Thank you for noticing."

"Ladies. Please." John stepped in between the two gentlemen with a stern look. "This is serious." He looked to the captain now. "A handful of your paying guests have just had their lives abruptly halted, and unless you can figure out who's responsible and stop them, their blood is on your hands."

"I don't remember there being any accounts of blood present," the captain sneered. "But never mind that, what the frackity-frick do you think you're doing with all those, little miss!" The man gestured frantically towards Mary, who was in the midst of slipping past the group into the kitchen area, her arms filled with at least seven bottles of red wine. John offered out his own arms and she dropped several of them into his possession.

"I was about to go empty these out in a sink," Mary explained coolly.

"But why?!"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because one or all of them has been poisoned? Doesn't that sound like a convincing enough reason to you?"

"Now listen here!" the captain fumed. "Just who do you folks think you are, bargin' onto my ship and taking initiative like you owned the damned thing?"

"Someone had to," Sherlock muttered.

"Listen, sonny, I don't think think you appreciate everything I do to make sure this trip runs smoothly-"

"We don't."

"-and trust me when I say I sure as heck ain't havin' it ruined by some delusional murderer either, believe me. But until we make port there ain't nothing to be done about it but take care of these things as they come, you hear?"

"So do nothing?" John frowned. "That's seriously what you're suggesting is the best course of action?"

"Let the police do their job when they get here. In the meantime, I'm gonna do mine, and I suggest you meddling youngsters do the same!" The captain then stomped out of the room just as he'd come, demanding that the area be sealed off and cleaned up as quickly as possible.

John met Sherlock's eyes, mirroring his friend's look of astonishment. "Zoinks," John breathed just before following his wife into the kitchen to dispose of the poisoned drink. Sherlock hesitated for a moment longer and then exited the dining area from the opposite end of the room, back towards the pool deck.


	3. Chapter 3

What Sherlock walked into next was, in his opinion, even worse than the very recent massacre. A mob had gathered on the deck just outside of the dining hall composed of faces that had fled the scene as well as quite a few who had presumably come running as soon as they heard the screams. They seemed to be in the the midst of a heated debate over the matter at hand.

"We're not safe here!" a woman was shouting. "Whatever monster did this could still be anywhere on the ship! Who's to say we're not next?"

"Who's to say he's one of us?" another added.

"We ought to get back to shore immediately!"

A man nearly twice this third woman's size elbowed his way in front of the female passenger. "I say we find the bastard who did this and throw 'im overboard!" he bellowed. Several other voices agreed with this motion.

"Everyone, please, shut up!" Sherlock interjected, pushing his way into the center of the crowd with his arms extended. "I work with the Scotland Yard. If everyone cooperates I should have little difficulty finding the culprit. That being said, I'm going to need to all to remain calm and-"

"Hey, who put you in charge?" the enormous man shot back.

"He says he's with the police though," another fellow chimed in. He had a pair of square-rimmed glasses on and looked burnt to a crisp, his face and exposed arms a bright red. "Shouldn't we maybe stick with him? Might be safer."

"We don't even know if he's telling the truth," disagreed the first man. He easily towered over the both of them, making Sherlock uneasy. "I don't see no fancy badge," he went on, jabbing the detective square in his chest.

"I'm a… a private investigator, if you will," Sherlock stammered. "I don't typically carry a badge."

"Let's take a vote," one of the women from before piped up. "Those in favor of doin' what the man says-"

"Can it, lady! This ain't no democracy! It's every man for himself!"

"Hey! You watch the way you talk to women!"

There was a shriek from someone in the crowd when one gentleman lunged forward and shoved another. This was immediately followed by a series of shouting that all blended together like white noise, loud and indistinguishable. It was beginning to make Sherlock's head throb, but the man jumped into the fray regardless, hoping to push the three or four men who had gotten involved in the physical dispute apart. Instead he was hit in the face by not one, but two opposing fits and knocked backwards, tripping over someone on his way down and sending a portion of the mob to the ground with him as if they were dominos.

Sherlock was only just starting to collect himself once more when the largest man, the one who had previously given him trouble, picked up a nearby pool chair and brought it down upon the red-faced gentleman. Upon impact of the blunt object his glasses snapped and he hit the pool deck with a loud _thud_. A hush fell over the group and they looked on in awe and fear. A little pool of blood trickled out from the back of the guy's head. Several gasps followed.

"He's dead!" a horrified cry rang out. "You killed him!"

The noises started up again, this time a blend of phrases such as "he probably murdered all those poor folks inside, too," and "get him!"

Despite his protests, the large man was ganged up on as Sherlock stood a little ways away and looked on helplessly. The consulting detective finally fought his way through the mosh pit only to find the man already beaten to a pulp and lying broken on the wooden deck. He wasn't dead, but only just. The people let out more distressed wails.

"I can't do this," Sherlock muttered aloud, eyes wide. He slipped back through the crowd unnoticed and cut into the dining hall. It had been entirely cleaned out now, bodies included. Sherlock then poked his head into the kitchen only to find that it, too, was abandoned. Making a face, he ducked out and, having run out of other options, made a beeline for the captain's deck.

He'd only just gotten into the hallway when Sherlock ran into John and Mary again. "Oh, there you are," he breathed.

Mary pointed at Sherlock with a concerned look about her. "Sherlock, your face… Are you alright?"

Sherlock touched the bottom of his nose with his fingertips. It felt sticky and smelled of blood. "I'm fine," the detective concluded rather quickly, wiping clean the injured area with the back of his sleeve. "I'm fine. Fine. Fine."

Mary raised an eyebrow. "Say it once more and maybe I'll believe you."

"I'm _fine_, Mary. The rest of the Emerald Princess, however, is most definitely not fine."

"What happened?" asked John, almost afraid to learn the answer.

"Why don't you ask the newest addition to the deceased passenger list and the brute who ended him."

Mary slapped a hand of her mouth. "Wh-Someone _else_ is dead?" John gaped. "Wait, does that mean you saw who did it?"

"Me and thirty other bystanders."

"What did you… do with the guy?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Me? Nothing. But the others didn't hesitate to break nearly every bone in his sorry body. The cruise line staff, of course, couldn't be bothered to intervene and re-establish order. I highly recommend you both file a complaint immediately upon return home. Or at least give the Emerald Princess a bad Yelp review."

"Is… that what happened to your face?"

Sherlock didn't answer.

"Okay," Mary tried again, "but what about this guy? Do you think he's the one we were looking for?"

"Nah. He's an animal - all brawn, no brains. Our original murderer wouldn't be so obvious."

"That means we could probably expect more deaths to come," Mary realized.

The consulting detective wrinkled his nose with disgust. "Yes. Good luck telling 'who dunnit', however. We've quite a lively pool of suspects."

John folded his arms and let out an exasperated sigh. "So let me get this straight: a total of nine, no, _ten_ corpses are now on this boat. We're in an enclosed space with our mystery killer, our incompetent captain refuses to get involved, change course, or do anything else responsible and rational… Oh, _and _the surviving passengers are mostly hostile. Have I missed anything?"

His wife shrugged. "I think that about sums up the predicament. So what then?"

"Sherlock hesitated for some time before answering this question. "This changes little in terms of the investigation, except that we ought to be more careful now. After what we witnessed back there, I believe it's safe to assume that neither poor Stevie Lamb nor any of the other eight victims were specifically targeted. That is, the murders were planned out, yet random. If the killer isn't committing them for the sake of off-ing a specific someone or, in this case, someones, then he's doing it because…?" The detective looked from Mary to John expectantly.

"Because… he's a serial murderer?" John offered.

"Well yes, obviously. Killing many people in succession by definition makes someone a serial murderer. I meant, of course, what his motives? What is he hoping to accomplish by pulling something like this off?"

Mary bit at her lip thoughtfully. "He's… trying to send a message? Or he wants a reaction."

"A reaction! Yes!" Sherlock almost looked proud, although neither of the others knew quite what he was getting at just yet. "Do elaborate."

"But what he could be hoping to get out of doing such a horrid thing, I haven't the slightest," Mary admitted.

"Wait, what if it's because the killer actually wants the Emerald Princess to turn back?" suggested John. "I mean, it's a bit of a stretch, but… but I don't see how else killing everyone onboard would help him. Assuming he could get away with it, can he even operate a ship this size? It's fairly big. And anyone would be suspicious upon finding him pulling into a dock like that. So... the simple answer would be that our killer wants the ship to turn around. I think."

"They could always use a lifeboat if it came down to that," Mary pointed out.

"Not bad," Sherlock commented, taking charge of the conversation again. "I suspect that whoever is responsible for this is already on the run. They figured they were safe out at sea, but they can't return to Britain without being back at square one. So you're a man on the run, assumedly a man, that is, temporarily seeking refuge aboard a cruise ship. You need to get out somewhere - anywhere - but attempting to steal a lifeboat and get away unnoticed is too risky. So what do you do?"

"You… give the captain a reason to change course, but not turn back around, then?"

"But it isn't foolproof," Mary argued. "How do you know the captain will even get the memo and won't just bring you back home? Ours didn't even do a damned thing!"

Sherlock nodded grimly. "And therein lies our killer's problem. Unforeseeable by him, the ship's captain was seemingly incapable of handling the situation appropriately, even going as far as denying a crime had been committed in the first place. So the killer had to prove a point."

"Hence the other eight more obvious deaths…"

"Well, _I _still say it's all more trouble than it's worth. And suppose your theory is right. It still doesn't get us any closer to catching the guy."

Sherlock shrugged. "Perhaps not, but if I am right and those are the killer's motives, do I get to be Velma?"

"You arse!" Mary scoffed, slapping Sherlock's upper arm with the back of her hand. "Just 'cause you think you're the smart one doesn't make you Velma."

John nodded seriously. "Yeah! If anyone's Velma, _she _is."

Mary pursed her lips together knowingly. "Wrong again," she purred.

"Sorry?"

"If anything I'd be Fred, the confident and, if I do say so myself, dashingly handsome leader of our mystery gang. That being said, I say we get back out there catch ourselves a bad man in a mask!"

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest the notion, but John shook his head with a slight smile, indicating not to bother. "Very well," the detective exhaled. "I can be Shaggy if that's what it comes down to."

"You keep telling yourself that."

"I will."

"Sure, sure."

"I'm serious!"

"I'm sensing a bit of aggravation in that tone. Does someone need a Scooby Snack?"

"_I swear to god, John!_"

-x-

"Just short of 3,000 people on board and our killer could be virtually any one of them…" Sherlock leaned forward across a bar's countertop, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully as he stared forward. "So where does one start looking, then?"

"You're doing it again," John mumbled.

"Pardon?"

"Talking about the case aloud to yourself," Mary informed him.

The detective shifted his eyes towards the others somewhat. "It wouldn't hurt for the both of you to listen in, you know. Although my questions are generally rhetorical, most any speculations would be welcomed right now, with as little as we have to go off of."

"Hey - you're the private eye from earlier, ain't that right?" a fourth voice bellowed from a few feet behind the group. Sherlock spun his barstool somewhat to glance at the newcomer; there were six of them, two of which he definitely recognized from the brawl earlier, and the others may or may not've been present as well. The one that was speaking had his dark hair greased back and was wearing a Hawaiian shirt with a pair of sunglasses clipped to its collar. The remaining five ranged from men close to Sherlock's age to around fifty, save one gentleman who was thin and wrinkled, with wiry white hair.

"Who's asking?" Sherlock calmly requested.

"_I _am. Folks 'ave been talkin', and there seems to be a consensus that you were the one who pulled a dead woman out of the water this morning."

"Your point being…?"

"Witness 'ave also claimed theys saw you 'n yer pals snoopin' around the crime scene after the little incident in the dining hall a couple hours ago. What do you have to say for yerself, inspector?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the man. He was a few inches shorter than Sherlock, but while seated he had to lift his chin to meet the man's accusatory gaze. "I don't know what you and your acquaintances here expect me to share about these eyewitness accounts," Sherlock replied in a silky, unchanging tone. "I was there, and I did retrieve the dead woman's body. Is there any particularly reason why you are approaching me about these events?"

The bloke wrinkled his nose. "Quit beating around the bush and admit that you know something about what's going on!" another of the men demanded. He was on the receiving end of a warning glance from the first man, but went on regardless: "We have every right to know exactly what's going on!"

"And so you do," Sherlock said flatly. "Once I've identified the culprit you will surely be among the first to know."

"I still think he's involved," the elderly man accused outwardly. "Don't trust the bloke."

"Seriously?" John let out, getting to his feet beside Sherlock. "This man is one of the few people on board doing anything to try and catch the killer you're all so scared of. Why make his job any harder?"

"Or alternatively: Grandpa's right," Hawaiian Shirt shot back. "Nobody ain't seen no badge on yer cop buddy, but sayin' he is one would be the perfect way to keep us off his trail. Make us trust 'im, thinkin' he's tryin' to catch the guy responsible when it's really him we should be keepin' an eye on…"

"I don't have to deal with this." Sherlock stood and retrieved his peacoat from where he'd left it hung over the bar, turning to leave.

"Oi!" Hawaiian Shirt grabbed a fistfull of T-shirt from Sherlock's shoulder. The consulting detective remained in one place but didn't make an effort to look at the guy. "Tell you what: we'll let you keep doing what you're doing for now, but soon as anything else goes wrong, my buddies and I are coming after you. Got it?"

Without answering, Sherlock jerked away and stomped out of the room. The ensemble grunted amongst each other a bit before redirecting themselves to a booth table for a round of drinks. John started after Sherlock but was held back by his wife, who wrapped a loving arm around his.

"Leave him," Mary said softly. "This many people - especially ones like that - stress him out. He needs time to himself to think. And I, for one, need to get to bed. It's getting late."

"Oh. Uh. Of course." John fumbled around in his trouser pockets for their room key, which he handed to Mary. She gave him The Look. He smiled sheepishly and tucked it away again. "Right. I'm coming too." Arms still linked, the spouses went out the exit at the opposite end of the room and took a short flight of stairs down to the lower deck, which contained most of the bunkers. "You sure you don't want to watch the telly at all?" John asked as the made their way down the fluorescently lit hall. "I was reading through the channel guide earlier, and there isn't an extra charge for movie rentals here."

Mary shook her head. "Thank you, sweetie, but… it's been a long day, and at the rate things are going, this problem isn't going to be over anytime soon. I think sleep is a good idea while we can still get it."

John nodded understandingly. They stopped in front of their assigned room and unlocked its door with their keycard, letting it quietly shut behind them.


	4. Chapter 4

When Mary awoke the following morning she was still clinging tightly to John, who was already awake but seemingly hadn't budged for her sake.

"G'morning," the women greeted, smiling up at him groggily.

"And a good morning to you too," John planted a kiss on his wife's forehead. "Shall we get dressed and see what Sherlock's up to?"

Mary's smile slowly faded at this. "John. I love you, and I love how much you care about Sherlock, but do keep in mind that this is our honeymoon."

"I didn't mean it like that," John apologized, sitting. "It's just that… Well, I don't see how we can possibly enjoy any substantial amount of our honeymoon together if we're forced to spend it worried about being in an enclosed space with a cold-blooded killer. I want to have some 'us time' too, and quite a lot of it, but. Well. Priorities." The man leaned over and kissed Mary once more, this time on the lips, before getting out of bed. "And right now Sherlock's and ours overlap."

Mary rolled onto her back with an exasperated sigh and stared up at the ceiling. "You're right. Of course you're right. What was I thinking? Silly me, always getting ahead of myself. Help Sherlock catch a killer, and then invite him into bed with us."

"MARY!"

"Kidding," Mary purred. "Wonder if he found anything helpful since we last saw him anyway."

"If he did, it wasn't anything worth texting over."

"Or our killer got to him before he had the chance…"

John paused in the middle of fasting a belt around his trousers to shoot Mary a glare from over his shoulder. "I'll have you know I didn't marry you for your sense of humor," he replied flatly.

"Oh, hush. I'm a riot and we both know it."

Suddenly a familiar voice came from over the PA that neither John nor Mary was aware the room had: "Mr. and Mrs. Watson, please report to the bridge. I repeat, please report to the bridge. This is not a drill."

The line cut out and John and Mary exchanged slightly amused looks. "Well. At least he had the courtesy to wait until we were both up."

-x-

Once dressed, the couple made their way towards the Emerald Princess' bridge. It was still fairly early and few passengers were up and about, but it was difficult to say if this was out of fear or because most of them were still sleeping. It was likely a combination of the two.

The door was half-opened this time, and so John pushed it the rest of the way and invited himself inside. The only two people in there beside himself and Mary were Sherlock, who had now adorned himself in the recognizable all-white cruise ship uniform, and the ship's captain, who was hanging a foot or so off the ground from a rope attached to the ceiling.

"So I'm guessing this is why you wanted us," John said, gesturing up at the body with a finger. Sherlock nodded.

Mary pressed a hand over her mouth. "Oh my. You don't think he…?"

"He?" Sherlock shook his head. "No. Our chipper friend here would never take his own life. Like the others he was poisoned first, then put up on display. The rest of the deck personnel don't appear to be in the vicinity, so I'm guessing our culprit pulled off a stunt to draw them all away first."

"And… you're absolutely sure about that?"

Sherlock took a lined notecard from his shirt pocket and handed into to Mary. Scribbled across it in all caps read CHANGE COURSE OR YOU'RE NEXT.

"Odd wording for a suicide note, don't you think?"

"Mm. Suppose you're right. What then?"

"We can start by going after this." The detective held out a hand and Mary passed him back the card. "It's not the best clue, but it's a start. Handwriting, dominant hand, access to the materials used… You do still have that passenger list, don't you, John?"

But John was unable to answer, because just as he'd started to, a handful cruise line workers joined them in the little room.

"We just got here," John said a little too quickly.

"What the bloody hell is going on?!" bellowed a man they vaguely recalled being Darren.

Mary folded her arms and nodded her head towards the former captain. "I don't know; I think the situation sort of speaks for itself."

Darren shook his head in disbelief. "No. He… He wouldn't do that. That's entirely unlike him." One of the men towards the back of the group looked as if he were about to throw up and slipped back out of the bridge as discretely as he could in order to do so.

"No, he wouldn't," agreed Sherlock. "And he didn't. As I was just informing Dr. Watson and his wife here, I was on my way to see Captain Milo Rogers not fifteen minutes ago, when I walked in on this rather chilling display. At first I admit that I, too, assumed the obvious. But then I found this protruding from a front pocket." Sherlock now handed the notecard to Darren so that he could see for himself.

A second employee looked over Darren's shoulder at the card with wide eyes. "Then… this is connected with the incident in the dining hall?"

"And Bingo was name-o."

Darren took a deep breath and held the card lower. "Alright, look: I don't like you and I especially don't like the way you manage to keep popping up whenever something goes horribly wrong, but when you offered to help right things Milo brushed it off, and, well… I think we can all see where that got him. That being said, as second in command of this vessel, I look to you in terms of determining how to move on from this point."

Sherlock smiled somewhat. "Finally. One of you with two brain cells to rub together."

"Change course," John decided for him. Several pairs of eyes snapped around to look at him. "Don'cha think...?"

"And give our killer exactly what he wants?" Sherlock questioned.

"This is beyond just solving a murder, Sherlock. We're in the midst of a hostage situation. With the safety of everyone else onboard in mind, the most appropriate move would be to do as the killer says."

"And risk letting him get away?"

"I'm not saying stop trying to solve the case altogether, just… make the killer think we're cooperating."

Mary nodded thoughtfully. "That might just keep anyone else from dying."

"How far out are we?" Sherlock asked Darren.

"Several days out forwards and backwards," another of the sailors answered. "We're scheduled to arrive in Spain by the end of the week, and then circle back and stop in France two to three days after."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Alternatively, you can go East and make port in France ahead of schedule."

The man shook his head. "We can't do that. We don't have clearance to dock off our route."

"Make an exception. If you don't, more people are going to die, and that might even include you!"

Darren gave a curt nod. "Set course for France. We make port at the first available harbor."

"But sir-"

"I said CHANGE COURSE. And… one of you cut Captain Rogers down from there and take him to the morgue."

"Thank you," John breathed.

"You'd better be right about this."

"You wouldn't be the first person counting on it," Sherlock muttered on his way out.

-x-

"Alright, no line for the continental breakfast!" John exclaimed joyfully, helping himself to a glass plate at the end of the buffet.

"The single upside to a boat full of passengers too scared to exit their sleeping quarters," Mary breathed. "I hope they'll be alright."

Sherlock shrugged with disinterest. "They'll be as content in there as anywhere, what with the free wifi and access to movie rentals through the telly. And, of course, I only mean 'free' in the sense that they already paid a fair amount for these services in their over $600 tickets."

"I meant alright as in safe. But tell you what, as soon as all this has been dealt with accordingly, we should most definitely celebrate with a movie night. Rumor is it's possible to order popcorn through room service."

Sherlock was reluctant to fill a plate, as he rarely enjoyed eating in the midst of a case, but after a little pushing on Mary's part helped himself to some eggs and sausage. He reached out to retrieve silverware and stopped suddenly, spotting a familiar crowd out of the corner of his eye. "Hey, could you take this to a table for me?" he asked John, handing over his breakfast. "I'll hopefully be but a minute."

"Um. Alright?"

The detective left them to find a seat while he approached the men from the night before, who he'd noticed had just been shooting him looks and talking amongst themselves. "Morning, gentlemen," Sherlock greeted them unenthusiastically. "I hope you aren't still pointing fingers in the wrong direction."

"Well, well. If it isn't the man we were just looking for," sneered Hawaiian Shirt. He wasn't wearing a Hawaiian tee any longer, but the name had already stuck in Sherlock's mind and he had absolutely no intention of clearing up the issue.

"I take it you heard about the captain, then."

The other man's face fell. "Capt'n? No. We'd just picked up word that that fellow from the brawl earlier didn't make it. What about the capt'n?"

Now it was Sherlock's turn to make a slightly confused face. "I don't understand. That man's injuries weren't nearly severe enough to… You don't suppose the killer snuck into the infirmary and finished the job, would he?"

"You tell me. But start by explain' this capt'n business, if you'd be so kind."

Sherlock bit at his lower lip before responding. "Well. Now I'd really rather not."

"What? Is he dead now, too?" one of the other men asked.

Sherlock didn't answer him.

"Well? Is he?" pressed Hawaiian Shirt.

Silence.

"I'll take that as a yes," Hawaiian Shirt frowned. "And is that why you're dressed like that? In his uniform? Tryin' to trick people into trusting you and thinkin' you're in change o' things! It's more convincing than yer detective act, I'll give you that much. At least this time you actually look the part."

"This didn't belong to Captain Rogers," Sherlock retorted.

The much older man squinted at Sherlock. "Oh? Where'd it come from then?"

"From… someone else."

Hawaiian Shirt took a step forward as if examining Sherlock, who had half a mind to make his exit. And perhaps he should've then and there, because the next thing Hawaiian Shirt did was reach forward and pluck the notecard from Sherlock's shirt pocket.

Sherlock made a face. "I. Um. That was… found with Captain Roger's body. I obviously didn't write it, if that's what you're thinking."

"I think we've seen about enough. Boys - what we talked about."

-x-

"He sure is taking his time over there," Mary murmured after swallowing a mouthful of pancake. "Especially for a bunch of guys he can't stand. Think he'll be alright?"

John shrugged and sipped at his coffee. "Why shouldn't he be?"

"Well. For one, he just tried to make a run for it before the pack leader yanked him backwards by his shirt collar and oh look - now he's being unceremoniously dragged from the room."

John turned to Mary, unamused. "Okay, seriously. This dark humor has got to stop."

Mary jumped from her seat and tugged at her husband's arm. "I'm being completely serious, John. There they go!"

Now witnessing the event for himself, John threw his napkin down on the round table and the two of them darted after Sherlock and his captors. "Hey! Stop!" John kept shouting all the while. "Put him down! Security - someone - please! Please, put him down! He's my friend! He hasn't done anything!"

John and Mary chased the mob down two layers of the ship before some of the group continued on with their task while the others turned around to stop the married couple.

"He isn't involved, please," John begged, realizing that he couldn't get past the remaining four of them.

"We're unconvinced," the elderly man shot back.

A second man nodded in agreement. "I know our methods seem a little… unorthodox, but we're doing this for your woman's safety, too. That man may have seemed like your friend, but he's a liar. We even caught him with a note threatening to hurt more people! Can you explain that?"

"We can, actually," Mary tried. "We were with him when he found it."

"You were at the crime scene too? Did you get there before this man arrived?"

"Uh. No, not… not exactly…"

"So then how can you be so sure he wasn't the one who did it, eh?"

"Because he's the one trying to solve it!" John shouted angrily. "Why won't any of you jackarses let him do his bloody job?!"

A shorter and more rounded man wrinkled his nose. "We'll know for sure if he's the one responsible soon enough, in any case. No one else dies? He's our guy. If someone does… Well. Guess it won't be him, which is sort of a favor on our part."

"You're making a mistake," John hissed. "Now let me through. I have to speak with him."

The older man shook his head. "No can do, kiddo. But if you've got a message in need of delivering, I'd be happy to do the honors."

"You aren't going to hurt him then?" Mary wanted to know.

"What? No, of course not. We wouldn't dream of stooping to his level. We're just keeping him in a confined area for the remainder of the voyage; let the police deal with him when we make port. It's what any hero would do."

"Oh, so you think abducting a man makes you a hero now?"

"Let me through," John repeated through clenched teeth.

"What are you, deaf or something? I already said no."

"And I said, let me through!" The doctor lunged at the men, hoping to rip in between the four of them. This was unsuccessful, however, as he was easily thrown backwards. Mary called out his name worriedly, but he ignored her and went forward again, this time throwing a punch at the older man as he went and knocking the guy to the ground.

"Oi! You can't hit someone old enough to be your father!" the shorter bloke gasped. Now he came at John, knocking his head into the doctor's stomach and temporarily winding him. While disoriented, all four of them took the opportunity to gang up on John, the old man having gotten up to join them already. One of the men who hadn't spoken threw his fist at John, which hit him square in the face and knocked him against the ship's metal wall. A second blow also landed close to his cheek and one of them went for his leg, knocking him to the floor.

"Stop!" Mary screeched, throwing herself in front of John. "We'll leave, alright? Is that what you want?'

The foursome didn't say anything. Mary knelt down and helped her husband to his feet. He was bleeding from a nasty looking cut on his upper lip, but that appeared to be the worst of his injuries, whereas the older man now had fresh blood streaming down from under his nose. Once propped up again John made to take another swing at no one of them in particular, but Mary pulled his arm down again. "And you stop it too, alright!" she ordered. "We're not going to solve anything with this behavior."

John made a sort of grunting noise and spat out a bit of blood on the ground between them. Mary spun her husband around and escorted him back up the stairs they'd come from. "He's right about you making a mistake, though," she called out from over her shoulder. "Sherlock isn't the man you're looking for, and if something happens to you because he isn't around to stop it, I have little sympathy for your case."

"You'll thank us after you sleep soundly tonight," one of them shouted after her.


End file.
